Glances Into A Spark - A Bug's Life
Title: Glances Into A Spark - A Bug's Life
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: Sam, Will, the Autobots
Rating: PG
Summary: What is minor for some can be VERY major for others.
Warnings: n/a
Notes: This, honest to god, started as a dream I had of Ironhide so covered in insects that he couldn't transform. I woke up, went 'ew', and modified the dream into the following.
Table of Contents
o o o
The transformers were miserable.
The military puts their bases in strange places, which meant that visiting various Navy bases lead to, at one point, having a two-week mid-summer stay in the middle of a South Carolina swamp. Sam personally didn't mind too much. The heat, he was used to from home. The humidity was new, and made him feel like he was breathing through a hot, wet washcloth, but again, it was bearable. Will, it turned out, grew up in Louisiana, so he was right at home.
The 'bots didn't mind the heat at all. Wet in general made them uncomfortable, but it was a minor nuisance.
It was the bugs.
Great, black clouds of gnats. Small, trundling brown beetles. Whole flocks of mosquitoes. Ant-hills that came up to Sam's waist, full to bursting with huge red or black ants that swarmed at the faintest disturbance. Huge, lumbering June bugs. Horseflies the size of grapes. Chiggers. Spiders. Wasps.
The humans saw the insects as an inconvenience. The Cybertronians saw them as spawn from the blackest depths of the Pit. Bugs flew between the gaps of their armor, climbed their tires and limbs, wiggled into their joints and eventually got squished, leaving behind a sticky residue and an unpleasant gritty feeling of crushed exoskeletons. They kept to their vehicle forms unless absolutely necessary (which they were supposed to do, anyway, Will pointed out, but they usually took whatever opportunities they could to stand up) though creepy-crawlies still found their way in through the few chinks in their vehicle forms, mushing up on sensor units and windshields.
Ratchet fretted over clogged servos and intakes. Ironhide worried about blocked firing pins. Bumblebee wailed that his armor was never going to come clean.
Sam had remarked that they appeared to be suffering from the giant alien robot version of hay fever, which had sent the base commander into alarm and Will into belly-bursting laughter.
The three along for this trip were huddled in a storage building-turned-alien garage when Sam and Will found them. The two humans were touting a good-sized barrel between them and looking way too cheerful under their sunburns and mosquito bites. The 'bots were hunkered down on their wheels, their engines revving ridiculously high, trying to burn out some of the insectile gunk that plagued their systems.
"Good evening, gentlemen!" Will called out, thumping his end of the barrel to the concrete. "Special delivery, straight from Wheeljack at Nellis, care of the CO of Camp Swampy here." He pulled a paper from his pocket, flipping out with a flourish, grinning over the top at the unresponsive aliens. "My dearest friends - Perceptor's words, not mine - we have heard of your most unfortunate predicament. Unfortunately, as we are not allowed to, and I quote Ironhide's recent message home, 'blow the whole slagging, Primus-damned, worthless sunken mud trap sky-high - You actually said that, 'Hide? Seriously? - Wheeljack and I have set to alleviate your problem. Let us know how it works. Perceptor." Will slapped the barrel next to him. "Industrial strength bug repellent. According to Wheeljack's instructions, this is one application."
There was a moment of silence, and then both humans had to bolt as the three Cybertronian's made a mad dash for the barrel.
"That's just cruel, man," Sam remarked, watching the ensuing scuffle. Ironhide had the barrel in one hand and Ratchet in a headlock with the other, while Bumblebee was attempting to climb up both. "I mean, you could have told them there were about six more barrels outside."
"Where's the fun in that?" Will replied, leaning against the wall. Across the room, Bumblebee had managed to somehow climb on Ratchet's shoulders and was leaning on Ironhide's head as he reached for the barrel, when Ratchet shoved backwards against Ironhide. Overbalanced, the three toppled, crashing hard enough to crack the floor. Outside, the seamen Will had stabbed with hauling barrels were looking through the door with wide eyes, secretly whispering bets at each other on which alien would win. "Besides, this is the most exercise they've gotten since we got here. They'll get fat."
Sam snorted. "Well, you're in charge here, you get to tell Optimus why we have to buy the Navy a new warehouse. Remind me to be in France when that conversation happens."
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: Sam, Will, the Autobots
Rating: PG
Summary: What is minor for some can be VERY major for others.
Warnings: n/a
Notes: This, honest to god, started as a dream I had of Ironhide so covered in insects that he couldn't transform. I woke up, went 'ew', and modified the dream into the following.
Table of Contents
o o o
The transformers were miserable.
The military puts their bases in strange places, which meant that visiting various Navy bases lead to, at one point, having a two-week mid-summer stay in the middle of a South Carolina swamp. Sam personally didn't mind too much. The heat, he was used to from home. The humidity was new, and made him feel like he was breathing through a hot, wet washcloth, but again, it was bearable. Will, it turned out, grew up in Louisiana, so he was right at home.
The 'bots didn't mind the heat at all. Wet in general made them uncomfortable, but it was a minor nuisance.
It was the bugs.
Great, black clouds of gnats. Small, trundling brown beetles. Whole flocks of mosquitoes. Ant-hills that came up to Sam's waist, full to bursting with huge red or black ants that swarmed at the faintest disturbance. Huge, lumbering June bugs. Horseflies the size of grapes. Chiggers. Spiders. Wasps.
The humans saw the insects as an inconvenience. The Cybertronians saw them as spawn from the blackest depths of the Pit. Bugs flew between the gaps of their armor, climbed their tires and limbs, wiggled into their joints and eventually got squished, leaving behind a sticky residue and an unpleasant gritty feeling of crushed exoskeletons. They kept to their vehicle forms unless absolutely necessary (which they were supposed to do, anyway, Will pointed out, but they usually took whatever opportunities they could to stand up) though creepy-crawlies still found their way in through the few chinks in their vehicle forms, mushing up on sensor units and windshields.
Ratchet fretted over clogged servos and intakes. Ironhide worried about blocked firing pins. Bumblebee wailed that his armor was never going to come clean.
Sam had remarked that they appeared to be suffering from the giant alien robot version of hay fever, which had sent the base commander into alarm and Will into belly-bursting laughter.
The three along for this trip were huddled in a storage building-turned-alien garage when Sam and Will found them. The two humans were touting a good-sized barrel between them and looking way too cheerful under their sunburns and mosquito bites. The 'bots were hunkered down on their wheels, their engines revving ridiculously high, trying to burn out some of the insectile gunk that plagued their systems.
"Good evening, gentlemen!" Will called out, thumping his end of the barrel to the concrete. "Special delivery, straight from Wheeljack at Nellis, care of the CO of Camp Swampy here." He pulled a paper from his pocket, flipping out with a flourish, grinning over the top at the unresponsive aliens. "My dearest friends - Perceptor's words, not mine - we have heard of your most unfortunate predicament. Unfortunately, as we are not allowed to, and I quote Ironhide's recent message home, 'blow the whole slagging, Primus-damned, worthless sunken mud trap sky-high - You actually said that, 'Hide? Seriously? - Wheeljack and I have set to alleviate your problem. Let us know how it works. Perceptor." Will slapped the barrel next to him. "Industrial strength bug repellent. According to Wheeljack's instructions, this is one application."
There was a moment of silence, and then both humans had to bolt as the three Cybertronian's made a mad dash for the barrel.
"That's just cruel, man," Sam remarked, watching the ensuing scuffle. Ironhide had the barrel in one hand and Ratchet in a headlock with the other, while Bumblebee was attempting to climb up both. "I mean, you could have told them there were about six more barrels outside."
"Where's the fun in that?" Will replied, leaning against the wall. Across the room, Bumblebee had managed to somehow climb on Ratchet's shoulders and was leaning on Ironhide's head as he reached for the barrel, when Ratchet shoved backwards against Ironhide. Overbalanced, the three toppled, crashing hard enough to crack the floor. Outside, the seamen Will had stabbed with hauling barrels were looking through the door with wide eyes, secretly whispering bets at each other on which alien would win. "Besides, this is the most exercise they've gotten since we got here. They'll get fat."
Sam snorted. "Well, you're in charge here, you get to tell Optimus why we have to buy the Navy a new warehouse. Remind me to be in France when that conversation happens."